


Secrecy Opera

by PlumTea



Series: Backhanded Affection [1]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24194731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/pseuds/PlumTea
Summary: Strung into an arranged marriage against his will, Sandalphon has one job: to smile for the cameras. But how can he work with someone so infuriating?
Relationships: Lucifer/Sandalphon (Granblue Fantasy)
Series: Backhanded Affection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846834
Comments: 6
Kudos: 70





	Secrecy Opera

**Author's Note:**

> A trade for Yul!

Sandalphon has no idea why he was chosen. The two countries of Malkhut and Chokmah had been in talks of deepening relations for years, and a marriage was the best way to make promises official. But why _him_?

His lecherous older brother attracted more scandals, but where he was curvaceous and could oil his words, Sandalphon met his challenges with anger or white noise. They were equally unappealing, It couldn’t have been hoping for someone submissive, he’s sure that word of him losing his composure over the years had crossed borders.

"Don't worry," his mother told him when the news was broken to him. Her smile felt like ten betrayals. "You'll see that it's not so bad. Maybe being in a new place will be a good," way to manage his temper, "change of pace. Marriage changes people."

Marriage was the dumbest lie they had ever told Sandalphon, worse than reform school and God. He will be happy (compared to what?), he will have new experiences (wasn't he adventurous enough on his own?), and he'll be transformed (into what?).

He should have had a drink, or two, or five, on the plane ride over.

* * *

The king of Chokmah had three sons; the philanthrope Lucio (eerily photogenic with his long golden hair in the sunlight, never a poor word even in the tabloids), the eccentric Lucilius (rarely seen, always looking unhappy when he is spotted), and then Sandalphon’s fiance, Lucifer. Lucifer is the normal one between the three of them, always polite words in his interviews, a little distant the way most people in the public eye are. The photos of him make him look serene, someone who would stay calm as Sandalphon’s legs shake.

The Lucifer that met him was so bright that it blinded him. The prince opened with a handshake so strong it sent tremors down Sandalphon’s arms with over-enthusiasm. His teeth are white and even and smooth unlike Sandalphon’s, ridged and coffee-stained. Lucifer likes to stand too close; a light touch on the hip, taking his hands and saying, “I want to get to know you,” in that smooth-talking way of his. Sandalphon’s first reaction is to pull away, but the videos are always rolling, and he has to smile back, in a country he has no place in, to a man he doesn’t know.

All royalty are just figureheads now, but the press still show up for conferences, ready to snip and snipe with their cameras. The king sits in the middle, answering questions in that deep cadence of his. And Lucifer— he can weave words from nothing, and Sandalphon stands baffled as the man who was so cheery a moment ago can spin politics with ease.

Lucifer gestures him to his side, slings his arm around Sandalphon's shoulder and loudly proclaims to the cameras, "Don't you think we make a good couple?"

Sandalphon is brave and knows how to resist, and his elbow goes straight into Lucifer's stomach. The barricade blocks the shot, and all the press sees is Lucifer falter for a moment, lurch forward like he lost his balance.

"Sorry," Sandalphon whispers around his teeth, a half-truth. Sorry for looking bad in front of the camera, not sorry for making light of the alteration of his world.

And Lucifer laughs at him, just a chuckle behind easy eyes. "Apology accepted," he says, in a way that sounds convincing and unbelievable at the same time.

Sandalphon tilts his head so his hair covers his mouth, kindly requests that Lucifer fix his statement, less kindly requests that he shut the fuck up.

* * *

But then comes the moon, the darkened sky. Sandalphon receives another letter from one of the castle workers; to come to the prince’s room. The first letter he crumpled up and threw into the trash, who did this prince think he was? How shameless was he, and what did he think of Sandalphon?

The days passed, the letters kept coming, and tonight's flicked a lighter-flame to life in Sandalphon's curiosity. He folded up the most recent letter, tucked it around the pocketknife by his hip, and went out into the halls.

Lucifer's room is plain, with just the bare amount of furniture and only a few candles and books scattered across the tables for decoration. Even the cleaning lady blends in to the corner, dark uniform melding with the lamp-light shadows. Surprisingly faded for the jeweled gaudy man he knew under the sun. Lucifer himself, prone on his bed, moving only when he catches sight of his new guest. He exhales, perked up with that small smile, lunar phase waning.

Sandalphon stays in place, toeing the deep blue carpet in anticipation, but Lucifer doesn't move and neither does he. Growling, he asks, "Well? Are you going to say something?"

Lucifer points to his throat, and reaches for a notebook by his nightstand.

 _It still hurts to talk. Sorry,_ curves in black ink.

He hadn’t heard that the prince was sickly, he seemed to be in good enough health to walk around without issue during the day. Sandalphon still feels a shadow of thumbprints around his arm from earlier, when they had to wave to a crowd gathered for a press conference, burning hot.

The wind through the open window catches Sandalphon's hair, and whether his heart is hammering in his ribcage from confusion or elation he doesn't know.

* * *

This time too, like all the other times, Lucifer's cough rattles his throat. One of his attendants comes in with a pitcher of water and a handkerchief, standing by his side until the coughing fit has passed. He is careful when he wipes his mouth, folding up his handkerchief so that the clean side faces out before putting it on the tray.

"I didn't think you were that unwell," Sandalphon mutters. When the sun shines high, the prince acts like one of its radiant beams, but here halfway beneath his covers, he seems shaded. The presence that filled a courtyard is now thin.

Lucifer gives him a weary expression, gestures him close but not too close. Sandalphon stops a pace away; he'd asked one of the attendants during his first visit if the prince was contagious, and he got a shake of the head. Up close, the prince still has a startling presence, a curl under his eyelashes, gentle eyes that look at him and make his heart stumble. Sandalphon shivers, and thinks himself a fool for doing so.

"Does it hurt?" Sandalphon asks, and Lucifer tilts his head, blinking. "You haven't gotten better, have you?" It feels embarrassing to say, like someone could will an illness away just by wishing it, but seeing Lucifer weak now only puts into context how much stress he must have been under during the day.

Lucifer smiles, his face looks like he's laughing, but only a rattle comes out. He gestures to his throat, angles his fingers like he's scratching.

"When I was sick, I'd usually drink honey ginger tea with lemon. That helped my sore throat."

Lucifer nods, storing the idea away. He picks up his notepad on his nightstand, and scribbles out a note, _I wish I could have some coffee right now._

Sandalphon's heart patters like rain. He'd never call himself an expert, but he's been trying out some new blends. This, he could hold a conversation in, unlike when he stands by Lucifer's side, hearing him talk about the direction of the country only to realize that he has no idea what a country has ever been to him but a word on a page. "If you don’t mind me saying so, I have some suggestions.”

Lucifer's eagerness is all the thanks he needs.

The clock chimes midnight, and Sandalphon hurries away. As he leaves Lucifer behind, he thinks about how the prince has never asked to kiss him, but if he asked, Sandalphon would let him.

* * *

The rose garden is far lusher than any garden Sandalphon's been in. Wide bushes stretch up towards the sky, dotted with budding roses of all colors. He's enamored by one at eye-height that's halfway between peach and pink, stretching out a hand to pluck it before Lucifer calls for him.

"It won't stop the press if they really wanted to get in," Lucifer says with a chuckle. "But it should hold them off for now."

They sit at a white table under a gazebo curled with vines, simple but electrically charged. Sandalphon tucks himself into the metal chair and drums his heels on the heat-baked stones. An attendant brings them a tray stacked with macarons and an assortment of sweets. A pear tart is placed in front of Sandalphon, and Lucifer has a peach mousse cake topped with some fluffy cream whipped into a halo of clouds. The tart melts on Sandalphon's tongue, sweetness swirling down his throat, and he can't help but bite into it again. Lucifer by comparison eats in small bites, like he's savoring the taste but doesn't know what to make of it.

Once the food is gone, and Lucifer asks his attendant for a drink, Sandalphon knows his chance has come. With a cough, Sandalphon presents a bag of beans, one he specifically requested: roasted from his hometown. "Why don't we give this a try?"

"Ah," Lucifer chews at his lip, and returns the bag gently. "Why don't we try some tea instead?" Lucifer claps his hands together. "I know Lucilius recently ordered some black tea with guava and mango. That sounds delightful, doesn't it?"

Sandalphon knows a rejection when he hears one. He tucks the bag back into his lap and thumbs the worn cord keeping the bag shut, wondering what he did wrong. Just a mistake, yes.

"We can have some next time," Lucifer reassures him, but Sandalphon knows there won't be a next time.

* * *

The letter at night makes him recoil. Even if the script is familiar, the same request as it always is, the ink sows a swamp in his guts. He doesn't know what to say; he wants to get angry, but he doesn't know what shape his accusations should take. Fury for getting his hopes up? That's not Lucifer's fault, he drew his own conclusions and they turned out to be wrong. Shame, stupidity. forcing himself into a corner and then cowering at the consequences.

But desire moves his feet, even as the words tumble in his throat, cowardice, embarrassment, a quest for answers. He doesn't knock, and who cares if its rude, he needs answers. Throwing open the wooden doors, he storms, snarling, “We need to talk.”

He has two fiances, equally imperceivable, one at the foot of the bed and one under the covers, both staring at him with wide-eyed surprise. Doppelgangers, like one stepped out of the mirror and stole the other's day clothes.

Then the one standing speaks, "You're not supposed to be here."

The one in bed frowns at his clone, jabbing a finger at his chest.

"Stop! I'm allowed to visit, aren't I?"

Two. There are two, but Sandalphon's mind reminds him that there are actually three, that the king has three sons. He's seen Lucilius once, when the middle prince walked past him in the hall and Sandalphon withered under how his merciless glare gave him goosebumps.

The one on the bed coughs, phlegmy and thick the way Sandalphon remembers, and for a moment he forgets his frustration as the one standing kneels and remains until the coughing fit has passed.

"We should probably explain," he says in the quiet.

Sandalphon feels for a cushion and sits down, deathly weightless. He hears words but they don't make any sense; that Lucifer, the real Lucifer, had been fallen ill, but there was no calling off an engagement this close to the date. So the king had set up a ploy; while Lucifer stayed in bed and recovered, Lucio stood in his brother’s place.

"I've always been a good actor," Lucifer, no, Lucio, confesses. "Although I didn't think this is how I'd end up using my talents." All Lucio had to do was shed his flashy clothes for his brother's more neutral tones, and cut his hair. He'd been growing out his hair ever since he was a child, and the only time all three triplets had ever been seen with the same hairstyle was when they were no taller than a table.

All this time, he'd been posing and pretend-flirting... with two lookalikes. Oh god, oh god. Sandalphon's glad the lamplight is low, because his face is definitely heating up, and he just might die on the spot.

"Lucifer, you're so lucky to have such a cute fiance." Lucio practically drapes himself across the bed, sprawled out all over his brother's legs. “I want a cute fiance too!”

Lucifer pats his brother on the head, and steals a glance at Sandalphon. It's simple and shy, the ebb and flow, and sends tenor vibrations down Sandalphon's arms.

It cows him for a moment, the gentle toe-curling look of his, in silent curiosity, but out bursts the frustration. Breathe in. Breathe out. "All this time," Sandalphon's voice feels like a rumble in the back of his throat, "you've been tricking me. Is that it?"

At least the two princes have the decency to look guilty at that. "Father's suggestions are law," Lucio states, as if that would make up for the humiliation bubbling behind Sandalphon's ears. "If you have a better suggestion, let's hear it."

Sandalphon has none. As simple as a cold is, there are always people out there willing to twist the simplest things into something that it isn't. It would reflect poorly not only on the Chokmah royal family, but on Sandalphon as well. He was never good at his duties. He was always a terrible prince, only good to be married off.

"So," Lucio rolls over to look at them both. "We have to continue this on for a while. Lucifer, you're feeling better, aren't you?"

Lucifer waves his hand back and forth, so-so. Well enough to let Sandalphon into his room night after night, that is.

Those pinprick eyes turn to Sandalphon next. "Will you?"

Sandalphon wants to say no. Sandalphon, in truth, wants to shove Lucio out the window. But he was brought here to marry, and...

"If," Lucifer's voice is a crackle of burning paper, "you don't mind. But if you are uncomfortable, then—" and his voice smolders over, and is ashes again.

...Sandalphon has never been asked to take part in a conspiracy before. At least a fun conspiracy; there's nothing fun like trying to make a lot of phone calls smothering a breaking story of whatever his older brother did this time to make the headlines. But this, after he pushes down his anger, this is exciting. This makes him feel a surge of thrill, a trick to play on a whole nation.

He clears his throat, pushing himself up in a way befitting a prince. "You owe me for this." He will take his payment in an opened bag of coffee beans, and Lucifer being able to try it for real this time.

Exuberant energy bursting, Lucio swings himself onto his feet and grins his million-dollar smile. "You're a lifesaver!" He crosses the room in a few strides, snatching up his hands and pulling him in close. "We'll all get our stories straight. This will be much easier now that we all know. And if you decide that Lucifer isn't your type, then I'll be more than happy to take you on under my wing!"

Sandalphon chops him on the head. "This," he says through gritted teeth, "is politics. Okay?"

"Of course!” Lucio says, but doesn’t move, and Sandalphon wonders how long he’ll be able to survive his engagement. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Cat for the lookover!


End file.
